


Tea, No Sympathy

by Wolfsbride



Series: Tea [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M loses her patience with Bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea, No Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



M looks up from the report she’s typing when the sight of a cup of tea appears in the corner of her line of vision. Shoving the keyboard away, she flexes her hands, cursing mentally about the vagaries of aging. Taking up the cup, she sips carefully, sighing as the delicate flavour of her favourite blend bursts over her taste buds. She resists the urge to shake her head in exasperation. Of _course_ he would know how she prefers her tea. Honestly, the man is a menace. Still, it is a nice gesture.

“Thank you, Bond.” She murmurs after another sip.

“Ma’am.” 

His tone is respectful, as is the slight nod he bestows upon her. She immediately wonders what he wants. She doesn’t ask; she merely continues to enjoy her tea and the small break it affords her. Let him stew a little, she thinks.

The minutes pass in silence and she marvels at his patience. As an agent, Bond is trained in the art of hurry up and wait, though he never seems to manage to apply that skill at home. That he is able to remain at ease without badgering her to death is a miracle. Clearly whatever it is he wants is important to him.

Her gaze dips as she takes another sip and she nearly chokes on her mouthful when her cursory perusal touches on the growing tent in his trousers. Since spluttering like a moron is _much_ too undignified, she swallows hard. She puts down her cup, frowning a little when it rattles in the saucer due to her shaky hand. 

Refraining from rolling her eyes, she breathes deeply. She should have known.

It would be a lie to say she isn’t flattered. His desire still comes as surprise given that she has a couple of decades on him. One of the nice things about having Bond as a lover is that the sex is phenomenal. And often. It’s like the man’s libido is fueled by a perpetual motion machine.

Still, as ego stroking as it is to be the focus of Bond’s attentions, she does, in fact, have a job to do. She ponders the idea of sending him on a mission to seduce someone so he can work it out of his system and give her some rest. Bond’s hands on her shoulders shake her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t even noticed him moving to stand behind her.

“Are you alright?”

The concern is sincere even if his motives aren’t so she succeeds in not snapping at him. “Yes, thank you. The tea is lovely. I better get back to _work_.” She hopes her emphasis will not be lost on him.

His hands remain on her shoulders and he begins to massage her tensed muscles. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you not to work so hard.”

M snorts. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not being judged every second of every day.” It amazes her, the things she is willing to confide in him. 

She allows herself a moment of weakness when Bond leans down and kisses the side of her neck. However, she regrets it soon after as Bond slips his hands from her shoulders to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them gently. She represses her shudder barely.

“Mr. Bond, just because you have no clear concept of what work is does not mean I do not. Kindly stop taking liberties with my person and unhand me.”

“Fuck.” He moans against her neck. “You have no idea what you do to me. Especially when you use _that_ tone of voice.” As he speaks, he continues to caress M’s breasts. He seems fascinated by the weight of them.

M clenches her hands, struggling to ignore the curl of pleasure his words, his tone, his touch, inspires. Phenomenal sex is also the downside to having Bond as a lover. If it were up to him, she would spend all of her time on her back with her legs in the air. It seems as though the man never outgrew his teenage randiness phase.

It infuriates her, sometimes, this loss of control over her body. She should be above this sort of behaviour. And so should he. With that thought to fortify her, she shoves his hands away from her bosom. 

“James! I said I was busy! And please stop molesting the back of my chair!”

Apparently, the seriousness of her tone finally gets through because Bond sighs heavily, kisses her neck and makes a strategic withdrawal. 

As he moves out from behind her chair and around her desk to sprawl in one of the visitors’ chairs, he makes no attempt to hide his arousal. In fact, she imagines his posture is a deliberate ploy to call attention to it in the belief that she will be tempted.

And while she is tempted, she has no intention of letting Bond know that. His disregard for boundaries was already ridiculous. It brought to mind the old proverb: _give a man an inch and he’ll take a mile_. Though in Bond’s case he would probably hijack the whole British transit system.

Forcing her gaze away from the way Bond’s erection is pushing against the front of his trousers, M repositions her keyboard and goes back to her report. She has only been working a few minutes when a long suffering sigh interrupts her. Her mouth firms and she resolutely does not look up. Bond sighs again, more tortured than before, and M sits back in her chair and glares at him. The intensity of her glare increases by a few degrees when she realizes that Bond seems to be having a massive sulk.

“Really, James! What on earth are you playing at? I’m beginning to think you’ve regressed to the age of twelve the way you’re behaving.”

Bond scowls and slouches further in his chair. 

M actually does roll her eyes this time. “Don’t you have things you could be doing?”

When his expression lightens and his brow arches, M raises her hand. “Not a _word_ , do you hear me?” Seeing his mutinous expression, M closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and mutters. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Why don’t you go play with yourself!”

Opening her eyes, she is confronted with the view of Bond stroking himself through his trousers. 

She is blindsided by a surge of lust as the memory of how good Bond’s cock feels plays out in her mind. “Not _here_!” She hisses at him. 

Bond has the grace to look at least a little sheepish. There is more surprise than embarrassment in his gaze though and she knows it’s because she’s let him get away with far too much in this regard.

The thought of what she is denying herself irritates her. While she would like nothing more than to march over to where he is sitting, hike up her skirt and let him have his way with her, there _is_ a pile of work she needs to get through. And Bond being a tart is _not_ helping matters. “Mr. Bond, you will vacate my office immediately, otherwise I will find something to occupy your time and your _cock_ in Siberia! Do I make myself clear?”

Bond is no longer slumped in his chair. He’s sitting up, bearing stiff. “Perfectly, ma’am!”

He leaves her office as she wishes but it’s not a satisfactory win. This was different than her arguments with him over his behaviour on a mission. This was personal and now she feels like utter crap. Christ. A lover’s spat, at her age! She’s much too old for this nonsense. 

Overwhelmed, M picks up the teacup and flings it against the wall. It shatters on impact and the pieces lay there, the liquid contained within soaking into the flooring as she goes back to her report.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mostly in response to all the lovely sexy fics floating around about Bond and M. While I enjoy those fics, I couldn't help wondering: when on earth does M get any work done?


End file.
